


Tamer

by Jessig



Series: Riders [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Drug-Induced Sex, Fantasy, Forced Bonding, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Rites of Passage, Soldiers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessig/pseuds/Jessig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tamers and Swords create the most powerful duo of warriors called Riders. Beshamael and Morgan are top ranked recruits who are paired together because of their outstanding skills and talents. But the process of being paired is more trying than either of them expected. Talent and skill does not equal emotional compatibility, and the two must work their best to make the pairing work because not being compatible could be a death sentence on the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an on-going work. Edits and changes will be added as necessary. I am not a professional writer and have no desire to be. I'm just writing for fun. Good c/c is always appreciated. Spam or hostile comments will be deleted.

 

            Everything about him was white as snow. The tips of his pure blonde hair reflected the suns rays as it swung with the motion of mounting the giant beast. A weathered but well cared for leather saddle donned the beast’s back, a switch of a girth gliding around its sides and bound with a buckle beneath its enormous stomach. If not for the saddle, there would be no delineation between human and beast. The white wisps of loose hair seamlessly blended with the beast’s pearly scales.

            _Magnificent_. That was the only word Morgan could conjure in his head. And such a word was fitting for both man and beast before him. He watched in awe as the two worked seamlessly together, the pure white rider seemingly doing nothing as the beast obediently followed orders, dancing lightly on its heavy pearlescent hooves, maneuvering through the basic training exercises. The scales of its hide gave way to fine hairs at the knees, creating a waterfall of fibers that swept around its lower legs, dancing with the breeze as much as its rider’s own hairs did.

            Morgan swallowed heavily and had to hold his stomach so the excitement building could be pressed down. This was his first time seeing a Tamer working. He had finally been afforded the rare privilege of seeing the Tamer work with his beast. He had caught fleeting glimpses on occasion of Tamers setting out into the field from behind the training facility’s walls but never had seen one so close. They were dangerous, he knew. They only followed the instructions of the Tamer that they themselves chose. It was evident the trust and mastery between Tamer and beast. Morgan itched to touch those beautiful hairs, the solid scales of the animal. But such a thing was not possible until its Tamer had granted permission. And that was only if the beast was even willing.

            This was also the first time he had seen this particular Tamer. Morgan had come of age and passed his test to join the elite forces of the Riders. The Riders were known for their skills with sword, archery, and speed. But the Riders were different from the other forces of the armed services. Unlike other groups that worked as individuals to make up whole teams, Riders exclusively worked in pairs of one Sword and one Tamer. The job of the Tamer was to control the beast for speed and efficiency, getting the Sword quickly to an attack and out before the enemy could counter. The beasts looked large and heavy but were anything but. And the beasts were versatile, able to gallop faster than any horse but fly as well.

            Riders were considered an honored position, Swords well known for their prowess with weaponry and cunning with battle strategy. Morgan hadn’t really considered himself cunning but he knew his way around a sword and with a bow. He had ranked with top marks in his testing group for accuracy, power, and swiftness. As such, he had been chosen to pair with a Tamer who had similar marks. The man before him now was the one they had intended to place him with. Morgan was not disappointed. This Tamer was certainly skilled and talented with his animal. And beautiful. Being used to the rough and tumble boys of the Sword trainees, he hadn’t expected such a lithe beauty to be among the Tamers. But he was sure that slim physique hid real power. The Tamer’s job was to be the vehicle among the pair but they had to know how to use a sword as well.

            Morgan could have sat and watched the man all day. He was almost envious of the relationship between beast and Tamer. Even the bond between horse and rider was nothing compared to this. The beasts were intelligent. Horses would typically do as they were told and not question anything. These beasts knew the world around them, chose to work with a Tamer, and made decisions on their own. And it was said Tamers were often just as rash and decisive as the beasts they worked with.

            As the Tamer began to slow and cool down the beast from their work out, Morgan stood slowly and approached them. About half way across the arena, the pale man let out a sharp grunt.

            “I wouldn’t,” he spoke sharply. “He doesn’t know you yet.”

            “Then let him scent me,” Morgan replied, trying to be friendly and sincere. He wanted this pairing to work. He truly did. All he’d ever wanted was to be a Rider. For this to work, the beast had to accept him.

            The Tamer looked at him curiously through lashes the color of snowflakes. His eyes were pure, crystalline blue as he studied the Sword in his midst. The beast stepped forward with swinging strides until it was settled in front of him. The animal sniffed his neck, not bothering to wait for Morgan to realize what was happening. Morgan fought the urge to jump as the snout blew hot breath onto his already sweating skin. Surely, the beast could see how nervous he was. He resisted the urge to run his gloved fingers through his dark brown locks although he was tempted to do anything to calm himself down.

            Without warning, the beast sneezed on him. Morgan was stunned. The Tamer laughed and the beast let out a grunt of satisfaction.

            “He’s not a fan,” the Tamer spoke while stroking the animal’s neck, smirking to himself with triumph.

            “I don’t need to be his fan,” Morgan spat, disgusted at the cruel joke. He wiped the goo off his black, leather armor. “Just need him to be okay with me.”

            The beast ruffled its wings, letting the fine feathers shake loose for a moment like he was stretching. The Tamer slid off his back and began unbuckling the girth.

            “You must be the Sword they paired me with,” the Tamer spoke almost dejectedly. Morgan was a bit put off. This was supposed to be a good thing. Every Rider waited for the day that he would be paired with his other half. It was an honor, a sign of being the best of the best.

            The saddle slid off and the beast shook its massive body before moving off. It stretched its wings and beat them hard, taking off from the ground into the sky.

            “He’ll come back,” the Tamer gathered the leather pieces from the sandy floor and began heading to the tack room. Morgan followed, trying to figure this ethereal man out. For the life of him, Morgan couldn’t see why the Tamer was lackluster about the ordeal.

            “You have a name?” the Tamer began placing the saddles and girth on their racks and rubbing away the grime with a soapy sponge.

            “Morgan,” he nodded, watching the snowy man work. “You?”

            “Beshamael,” he responded with a clipped tone. “Most people just call me Besh.”

            The conversation wilted. Morgan wasn’t sure what to say to this man. He clearly wasn’t happy with Morgan’s arrival and seemed to be waiting for him to just leave.

            “I suppose they sent you to let me know about the ceremony. When is it?” Besh broke the silence as he finished drying the leather.

            “This evening after the eighth bell,” Morgan cleared his throat.

            “A bit quick, isn’t it?” Besh threw the damp rag in a pile of dirty linens.

            “Not my decision to make,” Morgan shrugged. He would as soon get it over with. The ceremony was the official announcement of the year’s pairings, after which they would be expected to be in confinement for a week. Morgan had assumed it was for them to have a chance to get to know each other and begin training.

            “They’re always in a rush to form new pairings,” Besh spat, exiting the tack room and heading for the Tamer’s barracks. “Year after year it’s the same.”

            “Replenishing troops is top priority,” Morgan offered. They came to a bottleneck in the wall. Morgan had to stop here and Besh knew it. Swords were not allowed in the Tamer’s barracks just as Tamer’s weren’t allowed in the Sword’s barracks.

            “I will see you this evening then,” Besh offered a polite nod before disappearing down the thin hall.

            “This evening,” Morgan waved slightly before heading to his barracks.

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

            Besh let out a wail and smashed the top of his dresser with a fist. The old oak didn’t give but it felt good to punch it and have the pain radiate up his arm. It made him feel alive when he felt like he was drowning. Everything was collapsing on him right now. He knew the time would come that he would be paired. But in the back of his mind he had gotten cocky, had thought no one would ever score high enough to be his equal. Pairings were created through a match of skill and scores. Besh had scored so high when he had come of age that no one had yet been able to match him. Now he was being forced to pair with Morgan.

            Besh had been caught off guard when the commanders had delivered the news to him while he had been training with Silam. The beast sensed his distress even when his face had shown no emotion as the commanders told him they had found a match. Silam’s instinct to protect Besh from what was causing his distress had almost landed them in hot water. The commanders had seen Silam’s aggression as an affront to their authority, not realizing the reason wasn’t anger but fear radiating from Besh.

            It was for the best then that Silam had chosen to fly off today. The beast was smart enough to know an attack against his intended match would get them beaten and whipped at the least.

            Besh sat on his cot, opening the top drawer of the chest and removing his few possessions and uniforms. This would be the last time he would be in this room. As cramped and hollow as it was, it had been his. This was the only private space he had had. Starting tonight they would be moved to the Rider’s quarters and forced to cohabitate.

            “So the day has finally come, eh Besh?” Besh looked up startled at the man filling the doorway. When Besh registered whom it was he snorted and continued packing. Oriel was his same age but had been matched five years ago.

            “I heard this morning that they finally were going to pair you off. They said a month ago that some recruit from the Swords had a phenomenal entrance score. Is that who it is?”

            “Shut up, Ori, before I hit you,” Besh smiled innocently at his friend. Oriel laughed.

            “Is it though?” Oriel asked again.             
            “I figure he probably is,” Besh sighed and placed his meager belongings in his military issued trunk.

            “How’s life with Tyran?” Besh asked, trying to direct the conversation away from himself.

            “Childish as usual,” Oriel plopped next to Besh on the cot, lying back and stealing the one pillow to cushion his head. “He thought it would be funny to spray me with water this morning. But Gyras got him back with a good kick to the shin so it was worth it.”

            “You’re lucky Gyras didn’t kick Tyran’s whole leg off,” Besh smirked. “If ever I’ve seen a beast with powerful legs, it’s Gyras.”

            “Well, Tyran will have some groveling to do tonight, if you know what I mean,” Oriel sat up, laughing. Besh didn’t know what to make of it. Oriel had been through the exact situation Besh was going through now and he didn’t seem upset or disgusted with his predicament.

            “Ori, tell me something,” Besh looked at him seriously with deep focus. Oriel raised an eyebrow.

            “How long did it take…” Besh breathed through his nose deeply. “before you and Tyran were… _okay_ with each other?”

            “What? What do you mean?” Oriel looked confused.

            “I mean… Did you resent him after confinement?” Besh asked with a slight blush.

            “No,” Oriel shook his head. “I guess maybe I had prepared myself for it. But I always knew it would be Tyran. He was always my equal. I mean, how could he not be my match? So I knew it was coming.”

            “I don’t know this guy at all,” Besh admitted. “Never had heard of him until Commander Franke showed up with the scores.”

            Oriel reached out and petted Besh’s long hair. He hadn’t cut it in years. It fell to his waist when it was pulled back, even longer when he let it down. Besh looked at Oriel. They were the same age yet Oriel felt worlds apart. He had blossomed and matured with Tyran. And Besh still felt like a kid.

            “It will be okay,” Oriel embraced him and ruffled his hair, yanking strands out of the tie. Besh wanted to cry but knew it was useless.

            “You’re not the first one to be matched to a stranger,” Oriel commented. “It will work out, okay? Not everyone has to have a… physical relationship to be a good pair. Who knows? Maybe you two will end up being the best of friends.”

            Besh didn’t know how to feel about that. The best teams he knew were not only talented but loved one another. There were stories of pairs that despised one another and others who were friends. Friendship was probably his best hope but made him sad in a way. He had gotten used to the idea that he might never be matched. Now that it was actually happening and the ceremony only hours away, Besh couldn’t process it all. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Morgan to grow to love him or to just make amicable peace.

            “Are you coming tonight, Ori?” Besh asked after a time.

            “Of course,” Oriel nodded. “But only for the first part of the ceremony. I’m not senior enough to be invited to the initiation.”

            “I don’t know if I’d want you there for that,” Besh’s face grew red hot.

            “There will be others that you know watching,” Oriel grew solemn. “Best to just tune out everything but your Sword.”

            “Easier said than done,” Besh sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

A trickle of unease slid down Morgan’s spine along with a nervous sweat. Nothing in his training had prepared him for this. The already paired Swords made a bit of a bachelor party of it for him a few nights ago, regaling him with stories about their initiations and current love lives. It had seemed surreal to Morgan at the time. Now it was all very clear and frightening. Once the ceremony was over, he and Besh would be swept away and put into confinement for the initiation to begin. There would be witnesses. The official said there had to be. Then the witnesses would leave and they would have the rest of the week to themselves.  
The paired Swords had gone from making him blush with their stories of debauchery and erotic intrigue to scared with what would happen if he couldn’t or wouldn’t perform. Once a match was declared, there was no alternative or way out. It was happening. And it was now.

  
Morgan hated the pageantry and pomp for this occasion. He stood at the front of the room, waiting for the rest of the initiates to arrive. The eighth bell chimed in dusk and the room that was full of excited and chatting people fell silent. He was still the only Sword at the front. His chief officer, Commander Howell, stood to his right. The Tamer’s chief officer and Howell’s match, Commander Franke, took the left and signaled for the initiate Tamers to proceed in. The great doors of the ceremonial hall swung open. But only Besh proceeded through them.

  
Morgan glanced at his Commander. This couldn’t be right. There should be others doing this as well. Where were the others? Morgan felt like he would hyperventilate. A calm hand on his shoulder from his superior officer and a small, reassuring smile soothed him slightly. Morgan got enough of a grip to look at Beshamael as he proceeded towards the front. He was even lovelier than he had been this afternoon. If Morgan didn’t know what a rotten attitude laced with disappointment laid under that sweet façade he might have been in awe. Someone had tied Besh’s hair into an elaborate knot on his head. He wore his ceremonial green uniform that was a sharp contrast to the ceremonial deep red armor of the Swords.

  
Besh took his place next to Franke’s side. The pair eyed each other while trying to pay attention to the Holy that had been brought to bless the pairs being matched this day. Only this time there was only one pair. And it was frightening as all eyes watched them with a sense of wonder. Everyone in attendance knew about their rankings, that these two were top material. So the turnout was even greater than had been expected to see the highest ranking initiates the forces had ever seen.

  
Morgan couldn’t focus on the word the Holy said. He robotically repeated his phrases and moved his hands as he was told. Besh did the same but not for the same reasons. Morgan could tell Besh was against this. Morgan only wanted his chance to become the best Rider he could be. And if the officials said Besh was the best, he would find a way to make this work. Whether Besh would try would be a whole other matter.

  
The Holy concluded his remarks. Before Morgan could look at the audience, Commander Howell grabbed his arm and began leading him away to the doors off the side. Commander Franke did the same with Besh on the opposite side. There was an eruption of applause that burned Morgan’s ears. He tried to stop and get Howell to explain. No one had said he would just be hauled off like this. Typically, the pairs were allowed to leave together and had an escort to their new quarters.

  
“Commander, please!” Morgan tried to dig in his heels. “Why are you dragging me?”

  
“The officials don’t want to wait. They want the initiation over as soon as possible.” Howell responded mechanically.

  
“But why so forceful? And why is Besh going the opposite way?” Morgan tried to pry off his commander’s fingers. Howell was having none of it and gripped tighter.

  
“To make sure you don’t change your mind,” Howell responded.

  
How could he change his mind? Once matched, the pairing was set in stone.  
Then it hit him as Morgan was all but shoved in a large, mostly empty room. The floor was stone with a small rug in the center.

  
“I really am sorry, Morgan,” Howell shook his head before leaving. The door reopened quickly. Morgan thought that maybe Howell had changed his mind. His disappointment surfaced as the barracks doctor came in.

  
“You look well, Morgan,” he said kindly. Morgan didn’t believe he was sincere and his eyes caught sight of the flask in the doctor’s hand.

  
“What is that?” Morgan pointed.

  
“Just insurance to make sure you do well tonight,” the doctor patted his shoulder as Morgan tried to back away. The door opened again, this time two large guards entering. They quickly zeroed in on Morgan and grabbed him, holding his body still as the doctor approached again, flask open. One guard grabbed his jaw and forced it open.

  
“I need you to drink this, Morgan,” the doctor said quietly like he was speaking to a spooked horse. “You’ll feel better after you do.”

  
Morgan shook his head as best he could with two burly men holding him still. The doctor tilted the flask on his lips. The cool green liquid tasted like mint and burned exquisitely as it went down. Morgan tried to cough and retch but the men held him fast. When the flask was empty, they let him go and moved away.

  
“Give it about ten minutes. You’ll feel great.” The doctor smiled and left, a snick indicating that the door had been locked.

  
Almost instantly, Morgan began to feel dizzy and giddy. By the time the door opened again, he was sagged against the wall, unsure of how much time had passed. His mind was fuzzy and he didn’t resist when they removed his armor and underclothes. The doctor was right. He felt fantastic and all of his nervousness had dissipated. Two men who he didn’t recognize but weren’t the guards from earlier escorted him down the hall. They made a few turns but Morgan couldn’t keep up in his head. His head lolled to the side and a smile spread across his face at how good he felt.  
When they arrived at a chamber door, the doctor was back again.

  
“Feeling better, Morgan?” he asked kindly.

  
Morgan nodded stupidly. He felt great. The doctor patted his cheek and showed him another flask, this one with red liquid. Morgan almost thought it was pretty.

  
“I’m going to give you this now, okay?” The doctor didn’t have to force the drink this time. Morgan took it quickly and obediently. This one tasted like cinnamon.

  
“Good, lad,” the doctor took the flask away. He motioned to the two guards who held him up. “He’s ready now. Send him in.”

  
Quickly, Morgan was shoved into a new room. He almost fell from the force. This room was similar to the last one but had a distinct difference. There were hundreds of people. Distantly, in the back of his mind where some type of consciousness still existed, Morgan made sense of why the trouble of drugging him. There was no way conscious Morgan could have gotten it up in front of all these people.

  
In the center of the room on an ornate red rug, he distantly noticed Besh tied to a knot in the flooring. His cock began to harden as the red liquid began to take effect. Besh looked terrified and was trying to keep his eyes closed but couldn’t stop looking at how hungry Morgan looked.  
Besh was lying on his side, his hands tied together to the notch. The men in the room were silent.

  
So this is what initiation is like, Morgan thought. He dropped to his knees in front of Besh. The overwhelming desire running through him despite Besh’s terrified face propelled him to begin touching and exploring. Besh let out a yelp of displeasure.

  
 _Don’t think they did the same for him_. Morgan could feel that he knew this was wrong somewhere in his mind. But his body was in full control as he touched and spread Besh for everyone to see. Besh cried for him to stop but it only sounded like a faint echo. There was a murmur among the witnesses but no one moved as Morgan began to perform for them. Besh soon stopped crying and just lay there comatose while Morgan finished. The rush of euphoria died as he came down from his climax. He could hear footsteps of people leaving. Someone untied Besh. And then all was silent.


	3. Chapter 3

           Besh couldn’t move. Morgan had stopped some time ago but his body was frozen to the plush carpet. His hands were free but they remained clasped together. He was still trying to analyze the puzzle before him. How had this happened? Oriel had told him what he went through when he had been initiated and paired. This wasn’t the same. The ceremony had been normal except it had only been Besh and Morgan. But then the sudden reaction from Commander Franke dragging him to the room and tying him down had completely deviated from what Oriel had told him. He knew he and Morgan would be watched but he hadn’t expected so many people and for Morgan to be drugged. Something had gone horribly wrong and now it was too late for Besh to do anything about it.

            Morgan was slumped on the stone floor, completely knocked out from his drug-induced high. Besh wanted so badly to kick him in the balls for what had happened. He wanted to hurt him, make him feel the hurt he had inflicted upon Besh. But Besh knew better. Despite the rage and pain, he couldn’t hurt Morgan. So he stayed frozen on the floor, afraid to move and find out there were more tears and bruises that were hidden. The hard floor hurt. He wanted to get up. But getting up would mean he had decided that things were okay.

            Besh spent the night drifting between fitful sleep and watching Morgan with a wary eye. Morgan was well knocked out but Besh didn’t trust anything anymore. The drugs they gave him could cause him to wake up and begin again. Besh wasn’t sure if he could endure it again. Yes, no one would be there to see him defiled this time but the pain would be all the same. Besh had gone into this with reservations. Now it hurt all the worse because his concerns had been well founded.

            Besh couldn’t begin to understand the official who had done this. Besh had been afraid and unwilling but he _would_ have done it if he had been left alone. He could have made this work with Morgan. But instead they had forced them to seal their pairing quickly and made his partner down toxic amounts of drugs. Besh wanted to feel bad for Morgan but he had enough to worry about it regarding himself.

            _Silam._ Besh thought. _My friend, Silam. I need you right now._ Besh wanted to experience the freedom riding his beast brought him. Silam could take him away somewhere to heal. Silam would understand his pain and not ask him to explain or exert himself, to relive the experience again. Silam understood him better than anyone. But Silam couldn’t come here. The room was well barricaded and had no windows or balconies.

            “Besh…”

            Besh’s head turned frantically toward his name. Morgan was stirring. Without thinking, Besh sat up straight and began pushing away.

            “Stop moving,” Morgan grumbled, holding his head. “God, I feel dizzy… And sick.”

            “It’s the drugs,” Besh stilled. “They must have given you a hangover.”

            “Drugs? What drugs?” Morgan became hysterical. “What are you talking about?”

            “You seriously don’t remember,” Besh struggled to stand up. He had to lean against the stone wall to stay up. “They gave you something. You became… aggressive.”

            “Aggressive?” Morgan was dumbfounded. “You mean I…”

            Besh didn’t have to nod. Morgan got it.

Besh cringed. Morgan tried to wobble towards him but Besh shook his head.

            “I know you didn’t mean it,” Besh trembled as he spoke. “It’s not your fault. But please. Stay away from me right now.”

            Morgan faltered and was unsure of what to say. He stared down at the stone floor. How could his superiors do this? What did they hope to gain by forcing them through the initiation? Morgan racked his brain for answers but his mind remained cloudy from the night’s events. He could catch pieces of information, wisps of pictures and sounds but no coherent picture would form. He vaguely remembered people. _Many people_. He remembered feeling good for a while and then blackness.

            “I’m sorry,” Morgan could barely look at Besh while he said it. He didn’t remember violating the other man but he knew he had done it. “I don’t know why all this had to happen. I didn’t know they would do this.”

            “I know,” Besh responded with barely a whisper. “They kept us both in the dark.”

            The two torches of the room cast a pale orange glow over the two men as they sat there in silence. Besh wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t see a way to make this right. He fought with himself about why _he_ had to make this right. The superior officers should be the ones explaining themselves yet they were using confinement as a cheap trick to avoid justifying their reasons. At least that was what Besh was assuming in his anger. The officers had no reason to explain their actions to new recruits. No one held them accountable except for their own.

           

 

           

            A reprieve from the heavy atmosphere of the initiation chamber came when the doors swung wide. Several guards signaled for the two to get up and move. Morgan came to them first, Besh leaving a wide berth between them. Besh was tempted to be suspicious but could no longer stand the toxic environment the two had been sitting in since the rite.

            Thankfully, the guards didn’t touch them as they escorted them through narrow hallways. The group didn’t come across any stray wanderers. Besh figured they must have taken a seldom-used route. If now the officials were giving them some sort of decency it was much too late.

            The guards abruptly stopped outside a room as the hallway opened to reveal wide floors and walls with tapestries of beasts and swordsmen adorning their length. Morgan and Besh looked solemnly at it. They figured it was probably the entrance to the Riders’ chambers. What should have been an honor to be allowed to grace these halls was now sour and rank. The magnificence of the place was dulled through deception and cruelty. One guard grunted when the two weren’t paying attention. He signaled to the door and grabbed both of their wrists, laying their palms on the ancient oak. A tingle spread through their hands. The door must have been spelled to allow only their intended occupants through.

            Once the door had been calibrated to their palms, the guards gave a polite salute, opened the door, and ushered them inside. Morgan sighed with relief. At least they wouldn’t have to spend confinement in that room. Besh, on the other hand, felt trapped again. He wasn’t dumb enough to think that they would just leave the door unguarded. They were quite literally prisoners to this room.

            The room was nothing like the crowded barracks. The chamber was wide and open, a large hearth filling the eastern wall. During the winter, it would be welcome to keep the chill air away. A sitting area with a highly polished table and chairs sat off to the left of the hearth, backing up to large, clear windows with golden curtains. The Riders’ emblem was emblazoned on each swath of fabric. On the western side of the room was an oversize four-post bed covered in more gold sheets and a thick red comforter. Each side of the bed had an individual dressing space. Morgan noticed that his armor and uniforms were already here and hung with care. He supposed the uniforms on the other side must be Besh’s. To the left of Besh’s space was a private bath complete with sunken tub.

            Morgan would enjoy having his own bath instead of sharing buckets of ice water with the Sword recruits. Besh couldn’t care less about the bath. When Besh saw the large balcony, he knew he already had his favorite place. The glass doors were closed but Besh almost cried when he saw dazzling white scales gleaming in the morning sun. Silam let out an impatient chortle as Besh rushed to the balcony doors. Silam had no trouble fitting on it. How long had the poor beast been waiting for him?

            As soon as he opened the doors, Besh put his arms around the thick hide of Silam’s neck. The beast rumbled a deep purr in happiness and leaned down for Besh to get a better grip. Besh leaned his head against the bone plating of Silam’s forehead. The beast’s red eyes studied his Tamer.

            “I missed you,” Besh murmured, stroking the fine scales around the creature’s neck. Silam seemed content until Morgan approached. The beast could smell and sense the violence of the previous night and he instinctively growled at the intruder. Besh shushed him and the animal whined. Morgan eyed Silam warily as he handed Besh a silk robe.

            “I just thought you might want to cover up,” Morgan said quietly, holding his hands out for the beast to see. Silam let out another growl in warning and then fell silent at his Tamer’s command.

            “Thank you,” Besh nodded to Morgan as he slid the white fabric on. The pearly color fit flawlessly with Besh’s complexion.

            “Silam doesn’t mean you any harm,” Besh explained to Morgan as the other man watched the beast eyeing him. “He just doesn’t know better. He thinks you hurt me.”

            Morgan huffed despondently. “I did… And you know I’m sorry…”

            “I know,” Besh responded softly. “But Silam doesn’t know the difference. Pain is pain to him. Doesn’t matter who manipulates or what intentions there may be. And he knows I’m… afraid of you right now.”

            “Afraid of _me_?” Morgan started to balk but quickly corrected himself. Of course Besh was afraid. Morgan had been drugged but it didn’t stop Besh from seeing Morgan as the one raping him, Morgan as the one forcing pain and agony on him for hundreds of witnesses to see.

            “Give him time,” Besh pleaded. “Give _me_ time.”

           


	4. Chapter 4

           The confinement was excruciating. Besh had considered many times hopping on Silam’s back and letting the beast fly him far away. But just as there were guards at their chamber doors, there would be guards dotting the walls of the keep. Besh and Silam would never walk or fly out without being noticed, especially since the entire keep was well aware of his and Morgan’s recent initiation. Being reintroduced into the fold of Riders would be painfully embarrassing, Besh feared. Yet somehow all of the other Riders didn't seem to harbor any lingering negativity or embarrassment about their own pairings. Maybe it was something that simply took time to get over. Somehow Besh felt he would not be able to just let this go, to forget what these officers had done. And more importantly, he wondered if he even should.

            Besh sincerely wanted to talk with Oriel. If Oriel had lied to him, Besh would punch his face in and never speak to the man again.

            The morning had been extremely quiet. Other than the soft breaths of sleep coming from Morgan on the bed, there had been zero disruption to the silence. Breakfast had been brought discreetly while they had still dozed. Even though Besh didn’t feel like eating or getting up, he couldn’t spend any more time in the same bed as Morgan. There was plenty of space between them on the expansive mattress but it didn’t change the fact that Morgan and his scent covered the entire thing. Besh sat by the window in the sitting area, eating some fruit and drinking an herbal tea. The cheerful sun did nothing for his mood.

            When Morgan finally stirred, Besh abandoned the table for the balcony, swinging the glass doors closed behind him. Morgan started to understand Besh’s mannerisms and silent signals. Shrugging at the useless situation, Morgan made his way to the bathroom and let himself enjoy a morning soak. He had bathed more times over the last several days than he had ever in the barracks. The water here was pleasant, fragrant, and exclusively his. Washing in the barracks was merely a part of mandatory hygiene. In his own chambers, it was a way for him to relax.

            There was nothing to do save for what was provided in the room. After confinement, they would be thrown into a new training program that would be rigorous and fast paced. He had to enjoy himself now while he could.

            Once he had started to prune, Morgan decided he’d soaked long enough. As he emerged from the bathroom, Besh pushed past him inside, sealing the door with a decisive click. Morgan had figured Besh would be reluctant to share a bath or anything more intimate than the forced cohabitation required by pairings. He sighed as he dried his hair more thoroughly, searching for a loose fitting shirt and pants. No visitors were allowed during this time so it was pointless to keep up appearances.

            Morgan made his way to the remnants of breakfast, eying the nibbles of food Besh had taken. No wonder he was so thin if this is what the man ate like. And he hadn’t even touched any of the protein on the tray. There were some Tamers who were vegetarians. After working with their beasts so long, they refused to eat meat. Morgan wasn’t entirely sure Besh was one of them. The protein provided may just have not appealed. Morgan had no problem eating it however. He forked a few pieces of fried ham and three hard-boiled eggs before settling down in the seat Besh had vacated.

            He had polished off his food and set the tray to be picked up later by the time Besh reappeared. Besh quickly grabbed his clothes from the wardrobe, pulling on a similar set of shirt and pants to Morgan’s. Morgan risked walking over to Besh. They had been mostly quiet with one another since the initiation. They needed to talk, even if it were just about mundane things.

            Surprisingly, Besh didn’t try to move away. He just sat on the stool in front of his wardrobe mirror and grabbed his brush, working on detangling the long, wet strands. Morgan sat down behind him on the bed, the two making eye contact through the mirror.

            “Do you know any of the Riders?” Morgan asked. “We start training at the end of the week and I’m afraid I don’t really know any of the pairs.”

            It was business about Riders but Morgan kept the conversation on other pairs thinking Besh would be at least willing to discuss that.

            “Just a few,” Besh replied, concentrating on a particularly severe knot on hair.

            “Who, may I ask?” Morgan hesitated and prayed Besh wouldn’t flinch as he reached toward his wet hair to work on a knot on the other side with his dexterous fingers. Surprisingly, Besh allowed him to but watched him nervously through the mirror.

            “Oriel and Tyran, for one,” Besh shrugged as the knot finally gave way and he brushed it smooth. “Known them since we were kids. We grew up in the same village.”

            “The names sounds familiar,” Morgan nodded. “They must have some talent for their names to be said around the barracks.” Morgan silently signaled for Besh to hand him the brush. Besh complied, sweeping the mass of hair behind his shoulder.

            “I suppose,” Besh spoke nonchalantly. “I know Yuri and Dryc as well. Yuri’s beast Varr is probably a record setter with his size. They’ve already bred him twice trying to get more massive offspring.”

            Morgan chuckled softly as the strands began to separate and fall to Besh’s back.

            “Tell me about Silam,” Morgan asked softly. “How did you meet him?”

            “Silam is an oddity.” Besh actually smiled, remembering how they began working together. “Most Tamers end up with a beast out of the breeding program. I wasn’t even enrolled in basic training when I met Silam. He was actually a wild beast.”

            “Wild?” Morgan repeated with surprise. “That’s highly unusual.”

            “Yes, so I’ve been told,” Besh plucked a stray hair. “I was five years old, way too young to even be considered for the Tamers. I had gone to go play by a stream. There was a sharp drop off that I didn’t see. I slipped and fell into the water and I hadn’t learned to swim yet. I really thought I was going to drown. But then I was suddenly pulled onto the bank. I thought maybe it had been one of the townsfolk, that maybe they’d heard me screaming somehow. But sure enough it was Silam. He carried me by his mouth back to the village and that was that.”

            “So beasts really do make their decisions quickly,” Morgan laughed.

            “I never figured out why he chose to stay with me,” Besh gently shook his head so as not to dislodge the brush from Morgan’s hand. Besh had to admit that the hair brushing was calming and felt extremely good.

            “Well no one has ever figured that out,” Morgan retorted.

            “Yeah but I was so young,” Besh reasoned. “Beasts tend to bond to adolescents and adults. Children are too young to know how to handle a beast.”

            “Well, it worked out didn’t it?” Morgan asked.

            “Yes. Silam is my best friend,” Besh nodded.

            “So don’t question it. It is what it is.”

            “So what about this?” Besh hedged. “Is this what it is as well?”

            Morgan looked confused. “What do you mean?”  
            “I mean you and me,” Besh turned to face him finally. Morgan set the brush down on the bed.

            “I don’t know right now,” Morgan looked at his knees sheepishly. “I’m hoping one day we can get past this ugliness and be okay with each other. I don’t know how all this happened or why it had to happen this way but maybe it’s like you falling in that stream. Maybe there’s a reason I just don’t know right now.”

            “I don’t know if I can ever forgive whoever sent the order down,” Besh admitted. “This entire situation has been unfair. But I really don’t blame you. I promise I don’t. You’re a victim in this as well.”

            “But you still don’t trust me. You’ve been quiet and shied away from me at every chance so far. This is the first time you’ve held still long enough for me to talk to you.”

            “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t get past it being _you_ being the one to…” Besh choked and stopped.

            “Forget it for now,” Morgan told him. “Blame me all you want right now. I mean it. Maybe it will help you.”

            “So what now?” Besh asked as he stood up.

            “We make it through confinement,” Morgan shrugged. “I look forward to being pummeled to death during training. It will take our mind off of this.”

            “I know what you mean,” Besh smiled. “I’ve been itching to fly.”

            “Will Silam let me fly with you?”

            Besh looked at Morgan. Morgan seemed to sincerely want to join in and work with Silam.

            “I’m sure he will,” Besh brushed his hand against the post on the bed. “I’m sure he will.”


	5. Chapter 5

The final few days of confinement ended much more amicably than either man had expected or hoped for. They hadn’t fought and the silence between them had faded to respites of friendly, albeit humdrum, conversation. Neither man particularly wanted to dredge up the week’s events anyhow.

A dull pounding on the door woke them up. Morgan stumbled groggily to answer it. With a few clipped words, the order was given to dress and be ready to meet at the Rider training grounds at nine o’clock. Morgan saluted and returned to the bedside to begin donning his armor. Besh tumbled out of bed to do the same. The Swords’ armor was much differently built than the armor of the Tamers. The Tamers wore light, flexible armor that protected the points most vulnerable to being hit while riding. The rest of their clothing was form fitting but stretchy, made for someone who needed ease of movement and nothing to deter their speed. Morgan was much more heavily weighed down. As the key fighter of the pair, he needed more protection. Unlike Besh who only had armor where necessary, Morgan was covered in it from neck to foot.

Their weaponry differed as well. Morgan was prepared to fight with several implements, ready for long or short-range combat while Tamers usually only carried a light sword or crossbow. He always wore his heavy sword belt however. The sword in the sheath was an heirloom in his family although he was the first Rider to use it. Other family members had served in the military or tried to be accepted into the Sword training program with no success.

Morgan usually had several knives in holsters on various points of his body. Today would probably not require them so he left them in their respective cases. However, he did grab his bow and arrows. Surely there would be some more field-testing today. They may have both passed their initial exams with flying colors but that was merely entrance level work.

Morgan finished and turned to see if Besh was ready. Besh nodded that he was about to be done as he laced his brown knee-high boots. He grabbed a leather strap and tied his hair back in a high ponytail, sweeping the loose strands out of his face. Everything about Besh was streamlined as he turned to Morgan. Morgan could see every bit of smooth muscle and lean figure. The only thing that was not perfectly aerodynamic was the scarf around Besh’s waist. Morgan might have questioned it if he didn’t know what it was for. With the amount of flying and running they had to do, Tamers needed something to protect their face. When they weren’t wearing the scarf to protect their noses and mouths, many of them simply tied it around their hips to keep it out of the way.

A rap on the glass doors adjoining the balcony alerted the pair to Silam’s presence. The beast swayed excitedly, making a chirping noise that didn’t seem possible from the way the animal was designed. Morgan made a note to have Besh explain Silam’s different calls sometime. Besh whistled back and made a quick gesture with his hand. At that signal, Silam turned and glided off the balcony.

“He’ll be down there before us,” Besh said as they left the chamber for the first time in a week. The halls were bustling that morning with activity. By this hour, many of the Riders were already at practice but the maintenance staff was alert and scurrying to clean before they returned. Morgan and Besh hadn’t had the time to appreciate the positives of their new position. Barracks life was tough, dirty, and crowded. Riders were afforded many luxuries that were on par with royalty. But currently neither of them felt in the mood to bask in that fact. Nervousness raced through both of them. The pair had no idea what their reception would be as they entered the training facility. 

Morgan led Besh down to the sparring grounds, trying his best not to show each nervous tick and shiver. The Swords’ barracks was next to the Rider’s practice field. As they stepped out of the stone building into the open space, Besh spied the stables, instantly feeling a slight bit of relief at the familiar structure and smells. Despite beasts being the primary mode of transportation, Swords still used horses on occasion and for training purposes. Also, the beast’s tack was kept in the stable. Besh made his way to the tack room as he saw Silam off to the side, playfully nipping at Gyras’ side while Varr head-butted against him.

The field was much more densely crowded at the stables, several Tamers grabbing their equipment at the same time and seemingly unaware of the new recruit in their midst. Unlike the tack room at the Tamer’s barracks, this one had a full-time equipment checker who fetched the saddles and girths for them instead of letting the Tamers pick it up themselves. Besh fell in line behind the other Tamers waiting for their equipment, watching around him as Morgan stood off to the side, a small group of rowdy Swords approaching him and laughing. They jovially smacked him on the shoulder and welcomed him in a fashion typical of the Swords. Morgan seemed like he at least recognized the men talking to him even if he didn’t _know_ them and visibly relaxed in their presence.

Besh turned his head, as it was his turn to retrieve his tack. A thump on his back distracted him from grabbing the girth from the equipment checker. He turned sharply to see Oriel smiling with his usual toothy grin, Yuri peering over his shoulder with a silent chuckle dancing across his lips.

“Seems like you made it for sparring today!” Oriel shouted over the bustle of the men around them.

“Did I have a choice?” Besh asked, picking the girth up from the dusty floor. The equipment checker huffed and thrust his saddle at him. Besh almost didn’t take it when he saw it.

“What happened to my old saddle?” he asked the older gentleman. The saddle he had been handed was a double.

“Dun need tha piece ‘a junk anymore, do ya now?” he asked while chewing something minty smelling. Besh blushed and looked annoyed. “It’s still in the back.” The man pointed with his thumb to the area behind him. “I’ll get it fer ya if ya truly need it.”

Besh wanted to grunt and give the man a piece of his mind but Oriel grabbed him by the shoulder and started walking them towards their beasts. Yuri grabbed his other arm and tugged him along.

Varr and Gyras had already been saddled apparently as the trio approached. The two bigger beasts playfully sparred, trying to trip one another. Silam stood back and made a sound that Besh recognized as cheering the two on.

“You’re such an instigator,” Besh shook his head as he approached Silam. Silam let out a happy snort and leaned down like a camel so Besh could saddle him. Varr and Gyras both came over, letting Silam nuzzle against their noses in turn.

“And a flirt,” Besh smirked.

“So how was it?” Oriel asked abruptly. “You think it’s going to work out between you and Morgan?”

Besh’s smile withdrew and he felt himself collapse in for a moment. Yuri looked concerned. Oriel caught on quickly that he shouldn’t have asked.

“Sorry,” Oriel rubbed his shoulder. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not Morgan,” Besh replied sullenly. “Did you seriously not hear? Word travels fast through this place. I thought you would know by now.”

“About what?” Oriel was now looking extremely concerned.

Besh looked around. Seeing that everyone, especially Morgan, was at a safe distance, he looked gravely at his two companions.

“They drugged Morgan,” Besh didn’t beat around the bush. Oriel looked taken aback while Yuri was shocked. Yuri’s fingers moved quickly in the shape of symbols and Besh nodded in response.

“It was really bad,” Besh looked over to where Morgan was still speaking with the other men. “I can’t… really retell it and make it sound how it felt. But I don’t really want to talk about it right now either. I need to concentrate today.”

“Avoiding and burying it isn’t healthy,” Oriel said. Yuri nodded.

“I just want to know, Ori,” Besh looked at his friend. “Was that what happened to you?”

“No!” Oriel could tell Besh was trying to accuse him of lying. “Tyran was completely sober.”

“And did they tie you up?”

“Of course not!”

“What about you, Yuri?”

Yuri shook his head vigorously, eyes wide with concern.

“I don’t understand it,” Besh admitted. “Why? Why did they think all that was necessary?”

“I don’t know,” Oriel responded. “Look, I’m really sorry for bringing it up. But I seriously would have told you if I had known they would do something so drastic. I don’t know of anyone who had to be drugged to do get through initiation.”

“That’s just it though,” Besh looked down. “I don’t think Morgan would have refused. He didn’t need drugs to function. And there was no reason to tie me up. I wasn’t going to run.”

“It sounds like someone higher up was worried about something…” Oriel pondered aloud.

Oriel looked as if he would say something further but was cut off as the Swords made their way towards the three Tamers. Dryc walked up behind Yuri and grabbed his right hip with a friendly squeeze. Yuri moved his hands again and Dryc let go to grab a saddlebag from the stable area. He returned and handed it to Yuri who in turn attached it to Varr’s harness. Yuri signed to the group before mounting, Dryc swinging up behind him.

“We have an extended flight today,” Dryc spoke in a low bass to the group before allowing Yuri to do his job and instruct Varr to take flight. The oversized beast pushed dust and dirt into puffs as his wings beat against the ground. As the pair left over the wall of the yard, Besh turned to Morgan and Tyran.

“I didn’t realize Dryc could get more than one word out at a time,” Besh forced himself to make a joke to lighten the cloud that had formed over him. The group chuckled at that.

“That makes him an ideal partner for Yuri,” Oriel shrugged. “Although I’ve seen them have heated conversations. Someone needs to rename Yuri to Lightning Fingers.”

“Is he deaf?” Morgan asked.

“No, he’s mute,” Besh corrected.

“Then how does he give commands to Varr?” Morgan inquired.

“They really do keep you Swords in the dark,” Oriel puffed. “Sound is very minimal in working with beasts. The less you see a Tamer giving commands, the better he is.”

“So that would mean Yuri is phenomenal.”

“He is,” Besh interjected. “Varr is a piece of work. No one thought little Yuri would be the one to bond with him.”

Morgan almost snorted at that. Yuri was smaller than Oriel but really about the same height as Besh.

Silam stomped the dirt impatiently while the Riders talked. Gyras groomed Silam’s mane, thoroughly enjoying having Silam to himself now. Silam allowed his attentions but didn’t seem overly thrilled to be left alone with him.

Oriel snapped at Gyras as he tried to push himself into Silam harder.

“Quit it,” Oriel frowned. “You’re always trying too hard.” Gyras grunted and backed off after one last nip to Silam’s neck.

“I have so much to learn about these beasts’ mannerisms,” Morgan groaned. Everyone else in the group seemed perfectly attuned to what was going on.

“Isn’t grooming a natural behavior?” Morgan asked.

“It is but that’s not Gyras intention,” Oriel grunted and sent a teasing glare to Gyras. Gyras looked as shamefaced as a beast possibly could and moved another step away from Silam.

“Oh, quit bellyaching,” Oriel laughed. He turned to Morgan with an innocent smile.

“So, ready for your first flight?”


	6. Chapter 6

Oriel and Tyran shook their heads and Morgan was about ready to give up by the fifth try. He had at least been able to swing up into the saddle on the third attempt before promptly being bucked off. The embarrassment was killing him as his friends looked on. Besh had enough sense not to laugh at his face but did so off to the side when he thought Morgan wasn’t looking. Silam was making a point today to not cooperate.

Besh had been patient though. He sat in the front seat of the double saddle, trying his best to allow Silam to work it out with Morgan himself. When it became clear the beast wasn’t even trying to let Morgan on, Besh started chiding the creature. Silam let out a growl of frustration. Besh understood the meaning behind his sounds. Silam was displeased at having a virtually unknown man aboard. And he still associated Morgan with Besh’s pain. Besh had tried his best to assure the beast that Morgan wasn’t a threat but the beast refused to see past the emotions Besh was conveying. Besh began to understand Silam’s reaction was not a pure dislike of Morgan but rather the way Besh acted around him. For Silam to cooperate, Besh had to control his inner thoughts and the reactions he had at having Morgan so close.

“Give me a moment,” Besh said to the trio on the ground. He guided the beast over to a quiet corner of the arena. Sliding out of the saddle, his feet hit the dusty ground with a thud. Silam let out a woeful chirp as Besh came to his large head. Besh stroked the bony plating around his eyes and nose, trying to get Silam to calm and focus only on him.

“Please, Silam,” Besh spoke with a sweet, quiet voice. “Morgan is our partner now. I know I still have reservations about him but he’s not going to hurt me. Or you. Give him a chance, okay? I will if you will.”

The creature squawked in response as Besh patted his muzzle.

“Okay?” Besh asked with a reassuring smile. Silam blinked at him and lowered his head.

Besh took it as a sign and re-mounted the beast, taking him back to where his companions stood. Gyras squawked in a tone that could only mean he wanted to get going, that he was tired of waiting on Silam.

“I think we’re ready now,” Besh nodded to Morgan. Silam bent down on his front legs, still watching Morgan’s every move but seeming more submissive than before. Morgan hesitantly reached for the leather grip on the saddle, worried Silam would take off again before he even had a chance to mount. This time Silam snorted but didn’t move more than to swish a fly away with his lion-like tail. Morgan swung up quickly when he thought the timing was right, settling directly behind Besh in the saddle.

“What do I do now?” Morgan asked, trying to resist clinging to Besh in case Silam decided to buck again. When the creature moved up onto its front legs Morgan couldn’t resist and wrapped his arms around Besh’s waist.

“Relax,” Besh whispered and moved Morgan’s hands to the grips at the front of the saddle. The position forced him to set his elbows and forearms against Besh’s thighs. Morgan could feel Besh tense but he didn’t object or resist. It must have been unusual riding all these years and now suddenly having someone pressed up firmly against his back.

_Not to mention he’s not exactly a fan of my touch at the moment._

Besh internally scoffed at his remark for Morgan to relax. _I’m doing anything but… Maybe I should take my own advice._

Silam shifted a back leg and Morgan braced for the leg to randomly kick out. When nothing happened, he loosed his grip and sat a little straighter. Besh urged Silam to walk in a circle, trying to allow Morgan to get used to his stride. He knew Morgan was experienced at riding horses but this wasn’t entirely the same. The size and power of the creature was on magnitudes far above a horse. And no horse could fly.

Gyras called out to Silam. Silam returned the call and shook out his mane.

“He making fun of me to?” Morgan asked regarding Gyras.

“Hmm? No, he just doesn’t want to be left behind,” Besh replied. “Gyras has always been kind of needy since I’ve known him. Doesn’t help that Oriel spoils him.”

“I do not!” Oriel scoffed and Tyran laughed at him.

“You kind of do, dear,” Tyran put an arm around Oriel’s waist as Oriel tried to smack his cheek. Besh blushed at the affection between the two and looked away.

“Do you want us to fly with you?” Oriel asked as Silam halted in front of them. Gyras seemed in favor of it.

“Maybe some other time,” Besh responded as Gyras pouted with a snort. “I don't need any distractions today.”

“Well then,” Oriel saluted before mounting Gyras, Tyran following suit. “We’re going to work on some footwork drills.” Tyran groaned.

“Shut it. You’re vaulting technique is deplorable and Gyras could trip over a pebble. You both need it.” Oriel barked. “Have a safe flight. And Morgan? Don’t pee yourself the first time out like this guy.”

Tyran looked positively mortified.

“Relax. You were only 20 years old,” Oriel knew he was digging his own grave as Tyran’s face grew steadily redder.

“That was sweat. I told you that,” Tyran ground out as Oriel laughed and they trotted away.

“Is he serious?” Morgan asked Besh.

“I have no idea,” Besh chuckled. “Oriel may be teasing Tyran or giving you a legitimate warning. For better or worse, that man just speaks what’s on his mind.”

“So where are we going to fly?” Morgan asked, readjusting his position in the saddle. Morgan was beginning to get anxious as he waited on Besh’s answer.

“We won’t go far,” Besh responded. “We’ll stay inside the outer wall today. But we can go somewhere to practice in peace. I think we should head for the western hill.”

The western hill was easy to spot from the sky. Within the reaches of the outer wall of the keep, there were several hundred acres of land and trees. The western hill stood out for its lack of vegetation. One lone tree rode the top of it with only tall, dry grasses to surround it.

Morgan waited for Besh to provide some type of signal that they would take off. When Silam burst into a bold canter, Morgan yelped in surprise. Before long, the canter was taken over by the beating of strong, muscular wings and the ground fell away from them. Morgan knew to grip the bars at the front of the saddle but couldn’t stop from pulling back against Besh’s waist. He hesitated to look down, unsure of how fast or high they would go. He had never in his life been higher than the second floor of the keep. Now was not the time to realize he had a fear of heights.

Besh nudged him, trying to get him to look up instead of burying his head in his back. A tiny shadow marking their path was all Morgan saw, as he looked straight down at the grass below them. The shadow seemed to jump over the occasional stone wall or structure as they flew toward the western hill. The speed of the creature was amazing as it zoomed through clear air. Morgan finally looked up to see their flight path. An occasional bird or two whizzed past or beside them on their own journey to find food or nesting places.

Silam quickly descended and ascended, sometimes so close that his hooves brushed the tops of the grass and then so high they almost hit the clouds. The pearlescent scales and hairs flashed in the sunlight like a sunbeam come to earth.

Morgan began to relax and let Silam take him through the air. Besh seemed perfectly at home with the wind flying past him. Morgan could see a small smile creep onto his pale face as he gripped the white mane of the beast. Morgan pondered to himself what it would be like if he could be the one to bring a smile to Besh’s face.

The flight only took about thirty minutes before Silam began to descend for the final time by the great, lone oak tree. Morgan’s teeth clattered as the beast touched down on the grassy surface, cantering a few strides before falling into a trot and finally a walk. Silam huffed and shook himself out. Besh motioned for Morgan to get off and he quickly followed. Silam stretched his wings one last time before folding them against his scaly sides and settling to nap underneath the shade of the large tree.

“What did you think?” Besh asked Morgan. Morgan watched as the beast settled against the ground, letting its head droop.

“It was quite unexpected,” Morgan replied with a smile. “I could never have imagined what flying is like until now. I truly enjoyed it.”

“Scared at all?” Besh teased and leaned back against the trunk of the tree.

“Not a bit,” Morgan lied. Besh raised an eyebrow but didn’t refute him.

“When you get more confident, we’ll start working on air vaults and tactical maneuvers.”

Besh slid down against the bark until he was seated at the base of the tree. Silam moved towards him and rested his massive head against Besh’s leg. Besh began absently stroking the bony protrusions and flicking away any flies that came too close. Besh patted the ground next to him, ushering Morgan to sit.

“Sorry, Silam’s usually not this lazy.” Silam grunted and closed his red eyes. “Today was easier than the rest of the week will be. He’s enjoying it while he can.”

“ _Easier_?” Morgan scoffed. “Try telling that to my broken bum. I’ve fallen more times today than I have in the last five years.”

“Better he let you fall when we were still on the ground,” Besh shrugged with a smirk, combing his fingers through the creature’s forelock.

“He wouldn’t…” Morgan began but clamped his mouth shut as Silam let out a hiccupping sound that reminded him of a chuckle.

“He’s laughing at me,” Morgan said in surprise, half because he found it offensive, half because he actually understood what the beast was doing.

“Silam would catch you,” Besh insisted. Funny how he didn’t deny that Silam would just drop him out of the sky.

“Actually, dropping is a maneuver we will need to practice later,” Besh remarked. “Could save your life if you need to get out of the line of fire but prefer not die as a pile of mush. And wipe that look off your face. I’ve done it before. Silam is excellent at playing catch.”

“This isn’t playing.”

“It is to him. He does know the stakes are high though. He wouldn’t be careless enough to let you die because of a game.”

“Is that going to be his attitude if we go into battle?”

“I would hope not,” Besh sobered. “Speaking of… Have you heard anything about the last cavalry that was sent off six months ago? I heard casualties were high at the last battle on the Northern Coast.”

“Nothing more than you’ve heard. High casualties, yes. But from what side, I can’t say.”

Besh nodded to that and relaxed against the trunk with his legs crossed and eyes closed, still stroking the beast’s skin. Morgan actually felt a quiet surge of jealousy.

_What the hell is wrong with me? It’s like being upset over someone petting their dog._

Morgan rolled his eyes at his own stupidity before setting his head down on the grass much like Silam had done. A quick nap and they would all head back to the keep for the afternoon meal.

As Morgan drifted off, he could have sworn he felt Besh’s fingers against his scalp, mimicking the gestures he had done on Silam.


	7. Chapter 7

“Goddess, help me!” Morgan groaned as he sunk up to his waist in the piping hot water of their private bath. The past two weeks had been full of intense training exercises, most of which were both mentally and physically exhausting. Morgan’s legs felt like they were on fire and ached with a dull, persistent pain from the day’s work. Today’s training had focused on Morgan’s balance and steadiness as he moved from the saddle to standing on Silam’s back. Morgan had always been an excellent vaulter with horses. To him, Silam shouldn’t have been a challenge. If anything, Morgan thought it would be easier to balance on the creature’s back because of his width. However, Morgan hadn’t considered the difference in Silam’s stride and what balancing would be like while airborne.

The results of the day’s training were sore muscles, multiple deep bruises, and damaged pride. To his credit, Besh hadn’t been anything less than encouraging. He had tried his best to show Morgan the easiest way to crouch and stand while flying and supported him when he failed. More than once, Silam had to swoop quickly to catch Morgan before he became a mass of broken bones and skin which hurt Morgan even worse than a trip to the infirmary. In the end, Morgan could deal with the physical pain.

He was sorely embarrassed that many of the senior Riders had seen his repeated blunders. These Riders had expected a pair who was top-notch and currently it didn’t appear so. Silam was accepting Morgan’s presence more readily now but they couldn't get the beast to let Morgan ride solo. About the only thing that Morgan had not humiliated himself on was a showing of his swordsmanship and archery skills. At least with that he could prove he wasn’t a complete waste of breath.

Tyran and Dryc had shared their own difficulties at the beginning of training, particularly with the beasts. But they worked so seamlessly with them now that Morgan was sure they were exaggerating so he would feel better. And that wounded his dignity even worse that they felt the need to console him with lies.

Morgan let himself soak in the sunken tub until the water began to turn cold. His muscles had begun to relax and he was starting to feel a bit better. Letting the water drain, he stood up and reached for a towel. After he was dry, he donned a black silken robe. He intended to go to sleep immediately and made his way towards the bed until he noticed that Besh was not there. A quick scan of the room revealed that Besh had wandered off to the balcony. A slight breeze barely knocked the glass doors together as they wiggled more than swayed.

“You’re going to be exhausted if you don’t hit the hay soon,” Morgan told Besh as he walked up next to him by the gray granite railing. He let his hands touch the smooth rock. Even in summer, the stone remained remarkably cool. Besh had leaned his elbows on the railing, focused on the courtyard below. The courtyard was simplistic but quite lovely if one had the time to spend there. The edges of the grassy square were lined with neatly trimmed hedges. A small fishpond created a bold dot of blue in the center. Everything about it was well manicured, neat and orderly just like the Riders chambers.

Morgan chanced a look down, following Besh’s line of sight. By the pond, Silam was grazing with Gyras.

“Didn’t know they were herbivores,” Morgan remarked.

“Actually, they’re omnivorous. They’re more human in their diet than you think,” Besh stood up straighter but didn’t take his eyes off the beasts below. “Except they can digest raw meat better than we can.”

“I don’t eat grass,” Morgan frowned. Besh laughed at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Besh still smiled. “Just thought it was funny. Do you always need to point out the obvious?”

“Do I really do that?”

“All the time.” Besh patted his shoulder. Besh resumed his vigil over the creatures.

“So why are you watching them eat?” Morgan hedged. “You seem to know about their dietary needs already.”

Besh hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m not watching them eat. I’m watching their body language and subtle movements.”

Morgan looked for a moment.

“I just see two beasts eating,” he frowned.

“You just don’t know what to look for yet,” Besh shrugged.

“So what should I look for?”

“See how Gyras takes a step every so often towards Silam’s flank?” Besh pointed out. Morgan watched in silence until he saw it.

“Yeah. He’s just moving for more grass it seems like.”

“Now look at how often Silam swishes his tail.”

“I figured he was swatting bugs like horses do.”

“They’re not horses. You can’t always compare them that way. They’re much more intelligent with extremely individual personalities.”

“I get it. Er… I don’t get it actually. What was I supposed to be looking for again?” Morgan was confused. Two animals grazing shouldn’t have been this complicated.

“They don’t usually hang out in pairs for one,” Besh began. “Trios or quartets are the preferred grouping. And Gyras is trying extremely subtly to get to Silam’s belly. If you watch his muzzle, Gyras isn’t really eating all that much. He’s feigning it to keep Silam unaware of what he’s actually doing.”

“What’s he doing then?” Morgan admired Besh’s power of observation but really wanted to just get to the point.

“Trying to not upset the babysitter for one,” Besh smirked as he pointed to himself.

“He knows you’re watching,” Morgan nodded in conclusion.

“You see how he acts in the yard. He’s been trying to get Silam’s attention for weeks. My educated guess is Gyras is seeking a mate.”

“And he wants Silam?”

“Apparently.”

Morgan felt even more confused.

“I hate to ask but… How does that even work?”

“Mating?”

“Yeah…”

“Please, tell me you’re not that stupid.”

“No! No!” Morgan huffed and smacked his forehead. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, how does Gyras expect that to work? Doesn’t he need to find a female?”

“For someone who’s had sex with a man, you’re pretty close-minded about this,” Besh rolled his eyes. “As I said, they’re more human than you think. Humans are not the only ones who experience sexuality. At any rate, there is no such thing as a male or female beast. They’re hermaphroditic.”

Morgan’s jaw dropped at that unexpected news. Besh had to tap his chin to get him to close it.

“Then wait… How do they decide who’s…”

“On top?” Besh raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Morgan felt like he was a teenager again asking about the birds and the bees. His cheeks flooded with color.

“Don’t be embarrassed. You need to know these things. Especially if those two do mate because that’s a whole other matter we will have to deal with. And discuss with Oriel and Tyran. Anyway, they have levels of dominance just like humans do. They run the entire spectrum but to shorten it for your purposes there’s basically three levels: the dominant stallion, which is in essence an alpha, the beta stallion, which can assume either role, and the mare, which is the most submissive of the hierarchy. It’s really not fair to simplify it like this but it’s the easiest way to make you understand.”

“So where do those two fall on that list?” Morgan was starting to comprehend the information Besh was relating.

“Gyras is a beta stallion. Watch him with Varr. Varr is 100% a dominant stallion. That’s partly why they selected him for the breeding program. He’ll yield to Varr but will try to herd a less dominant beast like Silam.”

“Would you call Silam a mare?”

“Not entirely. He displays submissive tendencies when faced with true alphas and betas but he’s not always compliant. Silam truly falls in between beta and mare.”

“What about you?” Morgan asked before he could stop himself. Currently, he knew more about these creatures’ sexuality than his own partner’s. Maybe this was too abrupt and not the most tactful way of eliciting an answer, but Morgan had to admit he was curious. It wasn’t uncommon for a straight man to be a Rider. And Besh’s answer wouldn’t change Morgan’s acceptance of him.

When Besh didn’t answer immediately, Morgan took a step in front of him. Besh was toying with the end of his long ponytail, looking nervous suddenly.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Morgan said softly, gently touching Besh’s fingertips in an attempt to soothe. “I just want to know some things about you.”

“Couldn’t start with something simpler like my favorite color?” Besh barked a harsh laugh.

“Okay. So tell me,” Morgan moved to his wrist in a continual massage.

“My favorite color?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know… Blue, I guess?”

“Matches your eyes.”

“That’s coincidence.”

Morgan’s hands met Besh’s biceps. Besh’s heart beat wildly and he prayed to the Goddess it wouldn’t stop dead. Fear from their last encounter was fresh on his mind but a tightly bound string of excitement ran through him that he couldn’t deny. At least this time they were both in control.

“How about food?” Morgan continued to ask questions in a calm, hushed tone.

“Uh… I… I guess I like blackberries a lot.”

“Season?”

“Autumn.”

One hand had moved to the side of Besh’s neck, thumb stroking slowly over the taut skin while the other hand remained firm on his shoulder.

“How do you feel about women?”

“I don’t really care for them.”

“What about men?”

“I like them.”

The hand on his shoulder crept to his back, pulling Besh slightly forward so they were chest to chest. Soft lips brushed against his forehead briefly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Sharing with me,” Morgan whispered. “And letting me hold you like this. I promise I won’t do more than this right now.”

 _Right now_. Besh felt a strange sense of disappointment that he would receive no more than a light kiss that night but a fission of elation that Morgan hadn’t completely given up on him. Maybe one day they could truly make this right.


	8. Chapter 8

             Tyran raised his eyebrows in surprise but said nothing as Oriel passed the chambermaid a gold coin. Oriel had pulled her into a vacant access hallway and quietly but quickly discussed something with her before handing over the money. Her face was pinched with what appeared to be worry but Oriel soothed her and she visibly relaxed. With a swift nod, she turned and reemerged from the hall by herself, disappearing around the stone walls. Tyran allowed Oriel to come back to him before digging into him about his actions.

            “What was that about?” Tyran tugged on Oriel’s shoulder.

            “Getting information,” Oriel shrugged him off and pushed past him like he was in a hurry. Tyran became puzzled. Oriel was not acting like himself. Since that first day Besh and Morgan had joined them at practice, when they were by themselves, Oriel became irritable and mistrustful. He hadn’t been outright rude to Tyran but his attitude had become a byproduct of whatever was going through his mind. Whatever had been bugging him was now no longer a thought. Oriel was acting on it.

            Tyran obediently followed Oriel back to their chambers. It was becoming late with more and more people retreating to their rooms for the evening. Sealed inside their bedroom, Tyran grabbed a hold of Oriel’s wrist to stop him.

            “Tell me what is going on,” he demanded.

            “Nothing for you to worry about,” Oriel tried to snatch his hand away but Tyran refused to let him flee again. Every time he broached the subject of Oriel’s drastic mood change, Oriel ran away or become overly defensive. Tyran wasn’t having it anymore.

            “I do worry. You’re not… _you._ Tell me what has you so rankled.”

            “I don’t want you to get in trouble, too.” Oriel admitted, tucking his chin against his chest, refusing to make eye contact with Tyran.

            “What are you doing to get in trouble?” Tyran asked with a mix of concern and anger. Oriel never had a great sense of self-preservation.

            “If I tell you, you will be in it as well. I don’t want that.”

            “Ori,” Tyran urged Oriel to look up. “You know I love you. Five years ago we became a team. You have to believe I’m willing to do anything for you.”

            “Yes, I know but…” Tyran cut him off before he could finish.

            “Tell me now. What is going on? Why would you be in trouble? And if it were so important that you’re willing to put yourself in danger, why would you not trust me to support you?”

            “Because…” Oriel pushed his forehead against Tyran’s chest. “Because I fully expect to be whipped at the least, expunged at the worst.”

            Tyran’s heart dropped in his chest. What on earth was going on that his lover was afraid his actions would result in their termination from the Riders?

            “Ori…” Tyran pressed. “Goddess, what are you doing?”  

            “Doing what I know Besh won’t,” Oriel let a few tears roll down his cheeks while chuckling at the madness of the situation. Oriel hadn’t shared what he’d learned from Besh about his initiation night. As much as Oriel didn’t want to drag Tyran into this, chances were good that Tyran would still be considered an accessory to what he had planned. The instinct to protect his partner was strong but Tyran would end up resenting him if they were to be cast out and he blind to why.

             “Something horrible happened to Besh and Morgan,” Oriel began before relaying the entire story. Tyran was stunned into silence at the end of it.

             “I don’t know Morgan but I know Besh. _Very well_. He won’t speak up for himself. He won’t challenge authority. The general could come up to him tomorrow and chop off his head and he’d let it happen. He’s afraid to sew any discord with his superiors even if he knows their actions are reprehensible. Even though their actions have directly affected _him_.”

             “So you’re going to take the fall?”

             “I’m not taking the fall! I’m going to find out who did this to him and _why_. And I’m going to ensure that everyone knows so the pigs responsible have nowhere to hide. I realize that even if they’re in the wrong nothing will happen to them most likely. I realize we’re the ones who will be hurt. But I’m not standing by and doing nothing! Especially when Besh can’t. He’s… He’s always been a peacemaker… He would rather find a way to get along and not make waves. But I’m not.”

             “No, you’re the vanguard for lost causes,” Tyran retorted. “You know they’ll eat you alive. And me, too. Anything you uncover will be refuted despite any evidence you bring forward. This isn’t something that will just get us discharged. We’ll be lucky to walk out of here _alive_.”

             “I’m willing to take the risk for my friend,” Oriel touched the side of Tyran’s face. “Something like this is unjustifiable.”

             “Why, Ori?” Tyran almost pleaded. “Why do you feel like you have to take up this mantel?”

             “Are you listening to me? Besh _won’t_. He _can’t_. It’s not his nature to go against order. I can’t believe you’re not willing to support me in this.”

             “I never said that!” Tyran grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him once. “I trust you. But I’d be lying by saying I wasn’t scared of the repercussions. We’re going up against a stone wall with nothing more than a stick.”

             “So we find the crack in it and poke a hole through,” Oriel spoke with more confidence than he felt. But it was evident he was extremely determined in this.

             “No one has spoken out against a superior officer without getting lashed. Speaking out… It’s just not done.”

             “I don’t care. I will. I have to.”

             Tyran took in a deep breath through his nose. This man could quite literally be the death of him. Tyran made sure their eyes met.

             “Then tell me what to do.”


End file.
